Will You Love Me in the Morning?
by Blueberrychills94
Summary: Cato doesn't see the one night stand he had with the boy in the club as anything significant. But when the same boy seeks him out and slaps a pregnancy in front of him, his life is forever changed. Will Cato and Peeta be able cope with each other when the most impossible obstacle is thrown their way without tearing each other's heads off? Warning: mpreg
1. Chapter 1

_**Will you still love me in the morning?**_

_**By Blueberrychills94**_

**Chapter One**

It took many, many years, but it happened. For years it caused outcries, people claiming it was unnatural, unsanitary, unsafe, but then again, fights like this had already been raised. This was just like gasoline chucked on top. Many did not care as it did not affect them. Others complained for the sake of complaining. And then there were the people it did affect. The people who were gracious, thankful, happy with the result of a thirty year struggle.

Men could get pregnant.

For a man to be given the ability to become pregnant, they must go through complicated surgery that gave them the same ability as a woman to get pregnant. The outcries were for the obvious reasons. _God didn't want it this way!_ And so on. The men who mostly wanted to have the surgery were gay men so they already got stick from the religious nuts anyway, so why shouldn't they be given the ability to have a family just because the same people are going to stomp their feet and have a tantrum?

Cato had never considered having the surgery himself. He thought it was a great thing, and a massive leap forward, but he just wasn't all that sold on the idea of having his insides scrambled just to house another human being. Maybe if he had a partner who had the surgery, he wouldn't mind getting _them_ pregnant, if he loved them enough, but anything more than that and he couldn't do it. Besides, he wasn't ready for a serious relationship. He just wanted some fun.

He met the boy who would change his life in a bar. The blond beauty had stood behind the bar, doing a word search, with his leg slung over the counter. His hair had covered most of his face, falling in a golden wave of curls as his eyes were focused on the search in front of him. He was petit but strong looking, and it was clear that there was some muscle underneath the shirt he was wearing.

To give you an idea of how hot this boy was exactly, Cato was worried about him being near alcohol, since the place was in great danger of going up in flames.

It may have been the beer goggles talking, but he had never seen someone as attractive as this boy before in his entire life. It made him pitifully horny and in that moment he knew he had to fuck that kid. Immediately.

"Are you going to order something, or are you going to keep staring?" The boy lifted his head and flicked his hair out of his eyes. They were deep blue, glowing like the alcopop in the glass bottle behind him.

"I don't know, are you going to tear yourself away from that . . . fascinating word search?" Cato used the word fascinating because, judging by how the boy only looked up once, those words he was searching must have been pretty damn interesting.

"Well, if you're asking, I don't really want to," the boy said pointedly. He looked back down at the search and sighed dramatically. "Go on then, what is it you'd like?"

"The customer service here is amazing," Cato said sarcastically.

The boy looked back up and rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm a little drunk right now. I'm only 75% sure that you're here right now and all the letters on my page are wiggling like worms."

"Well, that makes two of us, at least," Cato muttered. He sat down at the bar and said, "Just get me something really strong." The blond boy leaned backwards and grabbed a bottle of beer from the shelf behind him. Cato's eyes were drawn to the boy's midriff as his shirt slipped up his stomach. There was a patch of blond hair peeking out from the waistband of his jeans and promisingly prominent hipbones.

At first, when the boy slapped the bottle of beer in front of him, Cato was disheartened. Who would hand over a bottle of budweiser when asked to give them something strong? He was proven wrong, however, when the mysterious boy then proceeded the pop the cap, dump the contents into a pint glass and also add a shit ton of vodka. He stuck a pink umbrella into it and slipped a cut lemon between the lip of the glass.

"There you go," he declared, passing Cato the glass. "I call it the Peeta."

"Why's that?" asked Cato.

"Because that's my name. I can't sing, act or be funny so I thought I might as well make my name somehow." Peeta grinned and winked. "Go on, try it."

"Is it even legal?"

"How strong is your stomach?"

"Pretty strong."

"Then go ahead."

Cato rolled his eyes but figured he may as well give it a go. He was three or four more shots off getting his stomach pumped anyway. As the cool liquid slid down his throat, he almost choked. Half way down it morphed from cold to fire hot and it burned the interior of his throat. He coughed and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. Peeta snickered and drew a wobbly circle around the word 'atmosphere'.

"I've never meant someone who can stomach it yet," he said.

"Well, maybe I'm occupied with other things," said Cato. He was beginning to slurr his words and his mind was working sloth slow. "Although, I think it's already contributed to about half of my current drunk state."

"It does that," Peeta mumbled. He shut his book and used the leg slung over the counter as leverage to pull himself onto the top to sit. His jeans were so tight they were like a second skin, hugging every muscle and documenting every shift of his body.

"When's your break?" asked Cato.

Peeta fixed Cato with a pointed gaze. "You're not getting any, if that's what you're trying," he said. "I'm not that kind of boy."

"Something tells me you are," Cato replied. He slid his hand up the younger boy's thigh and stepped in front of him. "Something tells me that under that sarcasm and cheeky grins there's a dirty, _dirty_ boy just begging to be let out."

Peeta smirked cheekily and smoothed his hands along Cato's shoulders. "Maybe," he said. "Only there's one snag."

"What's that?"

The blond beauty leaned forward so his lips brushed Cato's ear. "I'm cut up."

"And? What do you think I am? A bigot?" Cato responded. Peeta quirked an eyebrow. 'Cut up' was the term used for men who had gotten the pregnancy surgery. It was an unspoken rule to always inform a sexual partner if you'd had the surgery or not. "Are you . . . ?"

"Nah." Peeta leaned back on his elbows and smirked. "I just don't want another upturned nose. I take birth control."

"Well, you won't get it from me," said Cato. He twisted his hand around in the front of Peeta's shirt and pulled him up to face him. "So, I'll repeat my question. When's your break?"

"Five minutes," Peeta purred. "If you can pace yourself for that long, _big boy_."

Cato grinned. For those blue eyes and strong, sexy legs? Of course he could.

~xXx~

Cato woke up with a blasting headache. He couldn't remember anything from the previous night and the only thing he could process was that he was craving a bacon buddy. He rolled over with a heavy groan, slapping his hand down on the imaginary alarm clock that had woken him up. His hand found a crumpled piece of paper. When he looked at it, there were nine words.

_**Got to dash. Sorry. Thanks for the fun night.**_

_**~Peeta**_

Then it came rushing back to Cato in painful detail.

_He pushed the boy against the cubicle wall and claimed his neck as his marking ground, sucking on soft skin until the young boy squirmed and moaned in his arms. "I have to be back in ten minutes," Peeta had pointed out, squeaking in pleasured surprise when Cato grinded his crotch up against his own. "Fuck, that's it, harder."_

_Fine with him. _

_They fumbled with each other's buttons and, when it was clear that things weren't getting anywhere, Cato ripped the metal button off Peeta's pants and grabbed him by his thighs. He hoisted the younger boy up and slammed him against the wall again. Peeta tightened his legs around Cato's waist and kissed him hard._

"_You ready for me?" Cato teased against the panting boy's mouth. The alcohol had already worked its way into his brain, blurring his judgment and he completely forgot about thinking about a condom._

"_Don't ask stupid questions. Just get inside me!" Peeta was shouting, his voice echoing around the toilets. He obviously didn't care if there were other people around. Cato grinned against Peeta's neck and pushed into his as far as the younger boy's tight hole would allow. It was unbelievable how amazingly tight and hot inside the bartender boy was. _

The rest of it was a bit of a blurr. Cato could remember a lot of it. All he could hear in his head was seven words:

_Let's take this back to my place._

Cato kind of felt dirty. It was strange because it wasn't his first one night stand but it was the first every one night stand where _he _wasn't the first person to leave. Was this how it always felt to wake up alone? Wow. He'd been making quite a lot of people feel like shit. Maybe it was time to rethink his entire lifestyle choices.

Life went back to normal. Weeks passed, a month. Despite the length of time since that one night stand, Cato would spontaneously remember the boy from the bar. Well, the term 'remember' was used very lightly as Cato could not remember anything about the boy. All he had was the note and a name. Peeta. It made him wonder just how shit faced he had been that he couldn't even conjure up a face to the name. He had the vauge-ish memory of the sex in the toilet cubicle and could scarcely hear the boy's voice sometimes.

"Why don't you go back to the bar?" Clove asked one day at work. "If you're so curious about the kid why don't you try and find him again?"

"Ah, well, there's a slight problem," said Cato. "I can't even remember the bar I went to that night."

Clove scoffed and slipped off the counter she had been sitting on. Every day, without fail, she would go to Cato's work and distract him from doing what he's supposed to be doing. The job was only a part-time thing. It was a 9 to 5 job at a clothing store, working at the till and dealing with difficult costumers. Cato had asked Clove on numerous occasions to only come see him during his break but once he asked her this, she made it her mission to visit him when he wasn't on his break.

"Fuck sake, how shit-faced were you?" Clove laughed.

"Pretty fucking shit faced," Cato replied. "Honestly Clove, if I can't remember the guy's name then I certainly can't remember the name of the bloody club."

"You're just a pillar of romance," Clove drawled sarcastically. "How come you never get shit faced when you're with me? You're always so uptight when you're with me."

"That's because you need a chaperone," said Cato. "If both of us got drunk together then we'd wake up the next morning to embarrassing videos of us peeing together in digger scoopers in the dead of night on youtube."

"True. True."

Clove stalked off to look at the lingerie on display at the back of the store, leaving Cato alone with his thoughts. She wasn't gone five minutes before he started thinking about that night. He really wished there was a face he could place with the memory. If he could remember how the guy who was so desperately hot that he just _had_ to have him so badly that they fucked in the toilet cubicle before taking it back to his place, maybe things would make sense a little.

"Cato?"

Cato initially thought that his boss had caught him daydreaming on the job but once he snapped back into reality he realized that it was just a customer instead.

Wait a second . . .

Wrapped up in a thick woolly cardigan, a blond beauty stood before him. "I can't believe it's you. Of course you're in the last place I'd think to look," they say.

Cato almost forgot how to speak as everything came rushing back to him. The face, the smile, the sarcasm, the drinks, the word search. Everything. All of it. A part of Cato was so overwhelmed that he was almost consumed with the desire to grab the boy's face and pull him across the counter for a kiss. He didn't know what to say as Peeta stepped forward and slapped something down onto the counter that separated them.

A pregnancy test.

A positive pregnancy test.

When Cato met Peeta's eyes, the boy looked none too pleased. "We have a problem."

Fuck.

**A/N: Don't ask me about the science of how men may (but probably won't) be able to get pregnant in the future. It's just an idea that's necessary towards the plot of this story. If any of you can think of a way it could work-great!-but, as I've said, it's just a necessary plot bunny for this story.**

**Please review with your thoughts!**


	2. Week One: Day One

**Chapter Two**

**Week One: Day One**

As soon as he got off work, Cato took Peeta back to his apartment. It was difficult bottling all his emotions until then, able to see the pregnant boy out of the corner of his eye for the rest of his two hour shift. There would only be one reason why Peeta would seek him out with a pregnancy test. The kid was obviously his. The whole idea was mind boggling but Cato forced himself not to think about it until the moment they passed through the threshold of the entrance to his house.

"How do you even remember me?" It was an odd first question but it was extremely valid. Cato couldn't remember Peeta's face, so how did Peeta remember his?

"You were a lot drunker than I was," Peeta replied. He still held the pregnancy test in his hand, which stuck out like a sore thumb. "I was still pretty drunk but I knew that I'd know you when I saw you."

"Are you sure it's mine?" Cato demanded.

Peeta pulled a face. "How much of a slutbag do you think I am?" he asked.

Cato groaned and threw himself onto his sofa. "I can't believe this is happening," he groaned.

"You don't have to be involved," Peeta said indignantly. "I don't need you. I sought you out because I knew it wouldn't be fair to go ahead and have a baby without telling you about it."

"No!" Cato sat up, unsettling a lot of pillows and causing them to fall to the floor. "I'm not being one of those dead beat dads who don't do shit. This may have been an accident but I'm not going to give up just because you got yourself pregnant."

"Me?!" Peeta exclaimed. He picked up one of the pillows that fell and beat Cato around the head with it. "I was on birth control! It's your fault for being too fertile and not thinking about a goddamn condom!"

"You obviously didn't think of one either!" Cato threw back. He wretched the pillow from Peeta's hands before he did any more damage with it. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned for what felt like the thousandth time since Peeta showed up. "I can't believe this is happening."

"At least you don't have a creature growing inside of you," Peeta threw back. He sat down beside Cato and folded his arms. "I'm not even sure I want to keep the damn thing. I was considering maybe adoption or foster care."

"Why?" Cato may not have been delighted at the news that Peeta was pregnant with his baby but the idea of someone else bringing up their child made him feel weird. Like it wasn't natural or shouldn't happen. "Surely you want to raise your own child."

"What? To eventually explain that they were a drunken mistake? That their two daddies were never in love and just went at other as a one time fuck?" asked Peeta. "While being pissed out of their brains, might I add."

Well, he certainly had a point there.

"Besides, I'm twenty one years old. I'm not ready to be a dad," Peeta continued. "Are you?"

When Cato thought about it, he realized that he actually wasn't. There were so many things he needed to do, wanted to achieve. "No, I'm not," he finally said. "Surely there's another way, though. Surely there's something else."

"Other than leaving the kid on the doorstep of a randomers house?" Peeta asked. "I don't really think so."

Cato slumped further into the sofa. What a fucking mess.

"I don't even want to think about it right now," said Peeta. "I'm only a month in anyway. There's plenty of time to discuss what to do about it. I just came looking for you to find out what you wanted to do. Whether you wanted to be involved, didn't want to be involved, whether you'd change your mind, morph into a bigot and spit in my face or not. I'm kind of glad that the latter didn't happen or I'd probably have to dry clean these clothes."

"I suppose I should probably be involved," Cato muttered. "With the pregnancy anyway."

"Wow, your enthusiasm is admirable," Peeta said dryly.

"Well, you're not giving me much time to think on it! I can't even remember what happened that night! All I know is that we fucked and that's pretty obvious since you're fucking pregnant now!" Cato exclaimed.

Peeta rolled his eyes, not one bit fazed by Cato's rant. "I need a cigarette," he muttered. "If there's one thing I already miss, it's smoking a bloody cigarette."

"You smoke?" Cato scoffed.

"And? If you're going to lecture, take it outside, I'll be out in a minute with a shovel," said Peeta.

Cato was conflicted. He wanted to smack this kid and fuck him again all at the same time. Both being extremely unfeasible as 1) Peeta was pregnant and 2) Well, he was pregnant. Don't need much more reasoning than that. Cato had never felt such hate mixed with arousal for one person before in his entire life. "Do you remember much of what happened that night? Like how we ended up here at my place?" he asked.

Peeta grinned, playing with loose threads at the end of his sleeves. "We fucked in the toilet cubicle then you declared that you wanted a kebab to deflate the drunk haze a little so while I got back to work you went to the chippie to stuff your face. You came back half an hour later, still pissed, and informed me that the kebab did not work and you were painfully horny again. You suggested going back to your place and I agreed."

Cato was already virtually mortified. Urgh, why was he always such an airhead when he was drunk? A _kebab?_ What the fuck was a kebab going to do? He wished that he could remember that bacon was the only thing that worked when he had alcohol in his system but that one minor detail always seemed to slip his mind.

"I think we did it . . ." Peeta counted his fingers, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Three more times in your bedroom. With a lot of fingering on your bed added on top." He fluttered his eyelashes sarcastically and declared, "It was the most romantic night of my life!"

Cato rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to push Peeta off the sofa. "Anything else?"

"Yes," Peeta said. "You hump in your sleep."

Shaking his head, Cato said, "I didn't really need to know that."

"Neither did I but I still ended up with a cock in my ass when I was trying to sleep," said Peeta. "However, if it makes you feel any better, I've never experienced multiple orgasms in one night before. I'm serious, normally it's only one a night."

Somehow, this made Cato feel a little smug. "Really now?" he asked.

"Don't get up yourself, it's never going to happen again anyway," Peeta said. He hugged his cardigan closer to his body and nuzzled his face into the woolly fabric.

"Why are you dressed like a hobo anyway?" asked Cato.

"Because my mother kicked me out. Bitch wouldn't even let me pack first," Peeta answered.

"Where have you been sleeping?" Cato was surprised that Peeta's mother had kicked him out. Was it because he was pregnant? Or because he was stupid enough to have a one night stand when he was pissed?

"In the club when it closes up," Peeta shrugged. "I've only had enough money to buy a toothbrush and a pregnancy test."

Shit. Goddamn it. "I suppose you could sleep on my couch," Cato reluctantly said. What was he supposed to do? Send Peeta out, pregnant with his child, to sleep on the club floor again? He was many things but he wasn't that cruel. "But it won't be a permanent thing."

"Like I'd want it to be," muttered Peeta. His expression softened and he mumbled, "Thank you," into his cardigan.

There was the issue of whether Peeta would be able to sleep on the couch once he began showing but that was a question for another day. Hopefully once he found somewhere to stay, it would be long before he even began to show. When do you begin showing anyway? Cato's eyes fell to Peeta's stomach, which was hidden underneath the woolly cardigan. There was a living being in there right now. A living being with a mixture of both their bloods running through their veins.

"Stop it." Peeta drew his knees up to his chest and folded his arms on top of them. "You're making me nervous."

"I'm just trying to figure out when you're going to . . ." Cato mimed his stomach growing, puffing out his cheeks for effect. Peeta scowled and smacked his arm. "Hey! I'm just being honest here."

"For a woman it would be 12-14 weeks but since I'm cut up I can start showing anywhere between the end of month one to the beginning of month two," Peeta explained. "I've been basking in my thin days for all I'm worth."

"But this is the end of month one," said Cato. "Are you . . . ?"

Peeta sheepishly let his knees fall and pulled open the buttons of his cardigan. True to his word, what used to be the muscles in his stomach seemed to be fading and, if you squinted, there was a tiny bump along his abdomen. "This might just be bloating though," Peeta said. "I'm hoping it's bloating. I'm not even nearly mentally prepared for being huge."

"It wouldn't be that bad. If it wasn't bloating," Cato helpfully said.

"Oh shut up, don't patronize me," Peeta said, throwing his arms over his eyes. "I'm a balloon already." He sheepishly pulled his cardigan back down and covered his stomach again. "This is my life for the next eight months. Balloon boy."

Most attractive balloon Cato had ever seen. "Eight months." He blew a raspberry and tentatively patted Peeta's knee. "Sounds like we're going to be spending a lot of time together."

Peeta rolled his eyes. "Brilliant," he said unenthusiastically.

"Hey, you could be stuck with a pervert who wants to sell you for drugs, do you realize how lucky you are that I am pitifully monotonous?" Cato demanded.

"What sort of pervert would sell a pregnant man for drugs?" Peeta frowned.

Cato narrowed his eyes. "It's a drug-addicted pervert, do you really think he cares so much about the maternity state of the person he's selling to satisfy his crack addiction?"

"So I'm lucky I'm not the pregnant crack mule?" asked Peeta.

"How did we even get into talking about this? The point is that you're lucky you're with me, alright?" asked Cato. Peeta tugged a loose thread free from his sleeve and smiled to himself. "I'm going to go and see if I can find the extra blankets."

"I'll be here," said Peeta as Cato stood up, "contemplating my life choices."

Right. Cato took one last look at Peeta before he disappeared up the stairs to try to find some extra blankets. God, this day took a weird turn. As he rummaged around inside his airing cupboard for something suitable for Peeta, he found himself doing the exact same thing as Peeta said he'd be doing. He contemplated his life choices.

When he woke up this morning, his life was still the basic mediocre bore-a-thon that it had always been for the past twenty three years. Now? Now it was . . . it was a fucking mess. And it was all because of the confusing blond beauty currently sitting downstairs on his couch.

There was only one question that came into Cato's head as he dragged a mirage of blankets to the floor down from the top shelf:

What happens now?

**A/N: The week one, day one is based off the time Cato and Peeta are together. Peeta has been pregnant for a month beforehand. There's eight months left of the pregnancy.**


	3. Week One: Day Two

**Chapter Three**

**Week One: Day Two**

_Peeta was curled up in his lap, purring like a satisfied kitten. Cato sucked on his neck, his fingers exploring the younger boy's tight pink hole. Everything was tinted with an odd hue, like he was working on autopilot, being guided by the drink in his system. However the sounds he was pulling from the hottie in his lap were not falling on deaf ears, despite how drunk he was._

_His fingers found the small bump inside of Peeta, drawing a gorgeous, loud moan from him. "God, yes, right there!" the smaller blond begged, sweat breaking out across the expanse of his skin. Cato nipped at Peeta's bare shoulder with his teeth, keeping his mouth occupied while he brushed his prostate once, twice, a third time. Peeta gasped and groaned, throwing his head back against Cato's shoulder, sweaty hair pressing against sweaty skin._

"_What else do you want?" Cato purred, unable to actually remember opening his mouth to speak. That's the thing about drunk sex. Everything's confusing and all you can focus on is the euphoric pleasure. Not that that was a bad thing, however._

_Peeta blindly reached for Cato's spare hand, grasping it tight and placing it over one of his pectorals. "Please," he begged, his voice strained but forceful._

_Cato grinned-feeling kind of dopey-and squeezed the soft muscle before allowing his fingers to tease the rock-hard nipple on top. The reaction this coaxed from Peeta was priceless and in that moment Cato was almost sorry that he was drunk. Because he certainly wasn't going to remember any of this in the morning._

When Cato woke up the next day, he almost believed that everything was a dream. That Peeta hadn't showed up at the store with a pregnancy test, that he wasn't pregnant with his baby and wasn't downstairs sleeping on his couch. He dragged his butt out of bed and made his way downstairs just to check. A part of him hoped that it had all been a dream. The product of working too hard and spending too much time drinking over the weekends when he should have been resting up.

The all too harsh reality of what his life had become lay on the couch, in the form of a blond beauty.

Peeta had kicked all the blankets off him in his sleep. Cato felt frozen to the spot, his eyes able to take in the sleeping boy. The buttons of Peeta's cardigan had come out in his sleep and most of his stomach had been exposed in the process. There was still that overwhelming feeling connected to the knowledge that there was currently a living creature in that stomach. The stomach he could vaguely remember kissing and biting while he had descended down to suck the younger blond's cock. Was this what it was going to be like? Having spontaneous flashbacks from that night? The night that created the life now breathing inside of Peeta.

Peeta licked his lips in his sleep and pulled an unsettled face. Now that Cato thought about it, he could recall some restless mumbling coming from the living room in the middle of the night. Did he have nightmares or something? Just what he needed. Something else to worry about.

The bump was definitely beginning to show. Now that Cato could get a good look at him, it was obvious that Peeta was pregnant. Cato had never seen a pregnant man before. All he knew was that it was possible but he had never actually seen one of them in person. It was odd yet fascinating. He had never known the science behind it but as he watched Peeta shift and sigh in his sleep, cardigan parted as if projecting the point that he was with child, he couldn't imagine it not being possible.

Cato shook himself out of whatever trance he had been stuck in and moved to wake Peeta up. His hand was centimeters from Peeta's arm when the younger boy's eyes flew open and he screamed in surprise. Cato jumped in shock, taking completely off guard. "What?!" he yelled, throwing his arms in front of his face in a defense stance, half expecting Peeta to punch him. He wouldn't put it past the boy. The boy may be little, but Cato had no doubt that he was fierce.

"What the fuck!" Peeta exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Waking you up!" exclaimed Cato. "Why are you freaking out?!"

"You scared the shit out of me!" Peeta shouted. He sat up and ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I almost gave birth right there and then." He looked at Cato. "Don't do that again."

"I didn't do anything," said Cato. "I was going to wake you up. I can't do that standing at the edge of the room, nudging you with a ten foot pole, you do realize that, don't you?"

Peeta swung his legs off the couch and let his back press against the backrest. "What time is it anyway?" he mumbled.

Cato glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the mantel piece. "Ten in the morning."

Peeta cracked an eye open. "What are you, a miner? Why the hell are you waking me up so early?" He flopped back onto the couch and turned onto his stomach, promptly burying his face into the pillow.

"Is that safe?" Cato asked apprehensively. With a baby inside him, isn't it sort of a give-in that he shouldn't sleep on his stomach?

"It'll be fine," Peeta muttered, his voice muffled by the material of the cushion. "I have been pregnant for a month, remember? I haven't just been skipping around trying to find you. I've done my research."

Oooh, touchy. Cato rolled his eyes. "Can you please get up? I'm leaving in half an hour."

Peeta lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow. "What? Don't trust me here on my own? What are you hiding? Am I going to find porn in your kitchen cupboards or something?"

Cato didn't like to admit it but the idea of Peeta hanging around his house on his own unsettled him. There were a few loose ends lying around that he wasn't fond of the younger boy discovering. Sure, some X-rated magazines hidden under his bed and a few other . . . _things_. Besides, Peeta was a near enough stranger. He wasn't leaving him alone in his house, he didn't trust him enough for that yet. And he had to be at work in half an hour.

Peeta nestled his head back into the pillow. "It's okay, I wouldn't trust me either."

That struck Cato as odd but he didn't pursue it. "Are you getting up then? I'm sure there's some old clothes at the back of my wardrobe that you could borrow. They should fit you okay."

"Won't be saying that for too long. I'll be on needing maternity pants soon," Peeta muttered, hauling himself off the couch. Cato reached out and grabbed Peeta's hand, not really realizing that he had done it until Peeta was standing. Maybe it was instinct, the desire to protect Peeta because he was carrying his child, or maybe he just wasn't fond of the idea of Peeta falling and breaking his neck right before his eyes.

"Do you want me to go upstairs and get you some clothes?" asked Cato.

"I can come with you," Peeta said. He stretched his arms and cracked his back. "I'm not completely debilitated just yet."

"Are you sure"-

"Don't you dare start that faff," Peeta sharply. He buttoned his shirt back up, leaving the top three buttons lying open. "I have two feet, I can walk. We walked all the way here from the club in the Seam and this is when we were off our heads. This better not be a sign of how you're going to behave around me now." Peeta wove around Cato and made his way off towards the stairs. "I'm pregnant, not made of glass."

"Fine. I'll treat you just like I did that night," Cato declared, following Peeta to the stairs.

Peeta pulled a face. "God no. As good as the sex was, I don't want to be eyed like a piece of meat all the time."

"Well I didn't mean that way." Cato rolled his eyes, hiding how impressed he was by the pace Peeta was moving up the stairs. Shouldn't he be taking his time? What if he pulled a muscle or something? Okay, he had to stop worrying. Peeta obviously knew what he was doing. He wouldn't be as calm as he was if he didn't. Cato knew he was just being paranoid but could you blame him? Yesterday his life had been normal, now Peeta had chucked this curveball at him. Of course he was going to be a little thrown off! He still wasn't sure what to think about the whole situation.

Peeta looked over his shoulder and smirked. "I know," he said.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Peeta was a little out of breath. However he still managed to smile brightly at Cato. He led him into his bedroom and dragged some old clothes out from the back of the wardrobe. He wasn't sure why he kept them but he supposed whatever reason it was didn't matter now since he needed them for Peeta.

"Do you think your mother will let you back into your house to collect any of your stuff?" Cato asked.

Peeta shrugged. "Probably not," he said. "It's just the excuse she needs to burn all my stuff."

Cato's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "She wouldn't burn _everything_, would she?"

"Don't underestimate my mother," Peeta said gravelly. "It's not like I had all that much anyway. That's why I'm stuck working in the stupid Seam Club. My mum refuses to help with anything. Who cares, anyway? I'll have enough to rebuy my three pairs of slacks and seven shirts again in no time."

Cato almost felt sorry for Peeta. He passed the younger boy a pair of jeans and a shirt. "See if those fit."

Peeta took the clothes with a thankful nod. He quirked an eyebrow at Cato. "Are you going to turn around or do you not trust me enough to take your eyes off me?"

Cato hadn't realized that he hadn't moved since handing over the clothes. "Sorry," he quickly said, and turned around so his back was to Peeta. He could hear the soft ruffle of clothes being pulled off and tugged on. "So how does this work? I've never really been all that familiar with the process of male pregnancy."

There was a pregnant-pardon the term-pause before Peeta responded. His voice was a little sheepish, with a nervous edge to it. "I've been supposed to go to visit my GP since I found out I was pregnant."

Cato turned around, despite the fact that Peeta was only half way through tugging the shirt on. The clothes were just a tiny bit big, which was good since Peeta would be needing the extra room very soon. Peeta didn't seem to care that he had turned earlier, more focused on what Cato would think of his neglect to visit his GP rather than the fact that he was only half dressed.

"You haven't been to a GP? Peeta, are you mad? You need to get . . . advice and stuff."

Peeta held his ground regardless. "I'm not going to be poked and prodded by a doctor just for them to tell me what I already know," he said. "I'm pregnant, I get it. What's the use in going if they're just going to tell me that?"

"Do you know anything about the effects this will have on your body?" Cato pressed. "Do you know the possible outcomes, things that could go wrong, medication you have to take? You can't just ignore something like this. Why get yourself cut up if you didn't want to be identified by a doctor as pregnant in the future?"

"I did it _for_ the future! Not now!" Peeta exclaimed. "I didn't expect to get pregnant at twenty one! Who plans to get pregnant at twenty one, that's crazy!"

"Not to the well-prepared people!" said Cato. God, why was Peeta so difficult? Surely he could see how stupid it would be not to go and see his GP? Many thoughts quickly rushed through his head but on a whim the thought of how many sick days he had left popped into his mind. Okay, yeah, he had a good few left. Cato grabbed the phone off the landline on his bedside table. Peeta watched wearily, fully tugging the shirt on.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Phoning in sick so I can take you to your GP," Cato answered.

"What?! No!"

"No child of mine is getting lack of care just because the lunatic carrying them won't see their doctor about it," Cato muttered. He rang in sick, telling his boss that a doctor's appointment spontaneously popped up and that he couldn't make it in. After that, he rang the local practice and made an appointment for Peeta. Due to the overdue nature of the appointment, they were able to fit him in for an hour's time.

"I hate you," Peeta seethed when Cato hung up for the second time. His eyes were the colour of the sky on a stormy night, all darkness and burning power.

"I'm sure you're not the first," Cato replied, dropping the phone back onto the stand. He picked Peeta's cardigan off the floor, trying not to snigger at the boy's irritance as he snatched the garment off of him and shrugged it on. "Come on, might as well start making our way to the practice." As Cato passed, he stopped and asked, "Are you sure you'll be okay? I know carrying a child can be taxing on your ankles. They might give in."

Peeta scowled and hissed, "I'll show you where my ankle's going!" as he followed Cato out of the room.

~xXx~

"It's too warm in here," Peeta complained, fanning himself with his hands in the waiting office of the practice. He took hold of Cato's arm and said, "You know what? I'll go back to your place, get a fan and I'll meet you back here."

Cato rolled his eyes and pulled Peeta back into his seat when he stood up. "What exactly are you worried about here?" he asked. "They're not going to stick a hanger up your ass to check the baby's okay."

Peeta's eyes widened. "They do that?" he asked in a serious voice.

"Of course not!" Cato hated waiting rooms. They were stuffy and bland. There were always pamphlets stuck to the corkboard for mental health awareness and domestic abuse helplines or boring magazines about fashion fanned out on the coffee table. The office was empty right now, most people at school or work. This should have been a godsend but Peeta's constant excuses to get out was enough to equal the equivalent of three men and six bitchy women.

A petite girl came out of one of the doctor's offices and called Peeta's name. Cato stood up but Peeta didn't, instead pretending that he hadn't heard. "Will you quit being difficult?!" Cato exclaimed, grabbing Peeta's wrist and pulling him out of his seat.

Peeta's doctor was Dr. Aurelius, a jolly man with a tendency to be overly happy all the time. "Hello Mr Mellark!" he proclaimed as soon as they stepped through the door. "How can I help you?"

"I thought I had a throat infection but it seems that it was just caught phlegm. Thanks for the appointment though!" Cato grabbed Peeta's shoulders when he tried to leave and steered him towards the closest seat. He didn't sit himself, instead keeping Peeta sat on his seat by holding him down by his shoulders.

"He's pregnant," Cato decided to explain when it became obvious that Peeta wasn't going to. "Four weeks in and he hasn't been here for a check up."

Dr. Aurelius nodded. He smiled at Peeta. "There's no reason to be afraid," he told him. "I told you this when you came here to get cut up. I am a trained professional and will always do what's necessary to care for you and your little one."

Peeta bit on his bottom lip but didn't answer. His knee bounced irritably, exposing just how nervous he was. Cato could almost feel him trembling under his hands. What was wrong with him? Why didn't he want to be here, anyway? Was he scared of doctor's offices?

Dr. Aurelius fixed his eyes on Cato. "I'm guessing you're the father?" he asked.

"Yes," Cato answered, surprised by how quickly the answer came out of his mouth. He didn't feel a hint of reluctance.

"If you'd like to hop onto the bed over there, I can do a check-up to see how you're doing," Aurelius explained. He smiled again. "I'll give you a few minutes."

When he left, Cato let go of Peeta, who jumped to his feet like a spring. He walked over to the bed and paused. For a second, Cato thought he was about to burst into tears but instead Peeta leaned over and pressed his forehead against the bed. He was breathing heavily, his cheeks puffing out with every breath. "Peeta?" he asked in concern.

"I'm . . . just . . . a little . . . tired . . ." Peeta closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "Can you help me get . . . my pants . . . off?"

Somehow, Cato didn't see this the way he normally would. He would normally smirk or think something along the lines of, _you bet I will_, but instead he simply thought of how he had to help Peeta now in what-ever he needed help with. Because he was carrying his child. And that was partly Cato's own fault.

Cato stepped behind Peeta and helped him remove his pants. He didn't even find himself looking at Peeta inappropriately. It didn't seem right. Especially due to the current circumstances. He just helped him onto the bed and put the thin paper towel over his intimacy.

Aurelius returned and asked Peeta to turn around so his back was to him and to elevate himself a little on his knees. Peeta did what he was told, sitting up on his knees and folding his arms on the backrest of the bed. Cato could swear he heard the younger boy murmur, "this is so stupid," but he couldn't be sure.

While he examined him, Aurelius explained a few things concerning the pregnancy.

"Even though the process is completely safe, male pregnancy is not something that has been perfected. You two have an extremely bumpy road ahead of you." He glanced between Peeta and Cato. "I'm assuming you're both . . . ?"

"No," Peeta said. He and Cato exchanged a long look. Why was he so quick to make this clear? "We're not."

"But you both wish to be involved?"

"Yes." This time it was Cato. "We do."

Aurelius nodded. "Of course."

"What do you mean by 'bumpy road', exactly?" asked Cato.

"There are many side effects," Aurelius answered. "And Peeta you'll have to take quite a bit of medication to ensure that your body doesn't reject the fetus."

"Great," Peeta said unenthusiastically. "What sort of side effects?"

"Swelling, fatigue, sickness, sweating, pains, headaches, dizzy spells, prolonged sleeping, cravings, increased sex drive, you name it. It's quite an unsettling process," Aurelius explained. "But there are people working to improve on it."

Peeta groaned but was cut off when Aurelius poked a little too hard and made a yelp explode from his mouth. Cato, for some reason, felt uneasy through the entire check-up. Like the doctor was going to turn around and say something was wrong.

"From what I can see, your baby is fine," Aurelius finally smiled.

"How can you tell, exactly?" Cato asked. He may not remember much from the drunk night with Peeta but he knew for a fact that Peeta's ass but not so big that you could stare right up to see where his womb is.

"I slide this up through the anal cavity to press against the womb," Aurelius explained, showing Cato a long metal stick while Peeta turned around and lay on the bed, completely spent from supporting himself. "It counts the baby's heartbeat and, if it's regular, it will turn green. See?"

A light on top of the metal stick was, indeed, glowing green. Like an LED light. Like always, Cato didn't bother asking about the science of the stick. It worked and that's all that mattered.

"Your baby is extremely healthy for this early stage," Aurelius said.

"If it's so early, why do I feel like I'm carrying a whale?" Peeta demanded to know.

"That's just your body adjusting. Without the medication I'm about to prescribe you, in the next few days your body will begin to reject the fetus." Aurelius went to his desk and signed off a prescription, handing it to Cato with yet another smile. Peeta groaned again, like a petulant child, as the doctor left the room.

"This is just great," he said sarcastically. "Why do I have to be the one who got pregnant? Why couldn't you get pregnant, Cato? Hmm?"

"Because I didn't get cut up," Cato replied.

Peeta rolled his eyes irritably. "Details." He slid off the bed, slapping Cato's wrists when he tried to help him get his balance. "Well, go on, turn around!"

Cato felt the urge to point out that he'd already seen his body after that drunk night and when he was helping him get his pants off for this very check-up but bit his tongue. What he didn't expect was for when he turned around, there would be a mirror on the door, catching Peeta perfectly from behind him.

Man, that boy did have a hot body. Okay, so screw the circumstances a little. What? It was true. Peeta's stomach have been growing but it wasn't affecting his physique in the slightest. Yet. From the glance he got of the younger blond's cute little ass before he tugged his boxers on, Cato wished he remembered that night, more than ever before. How could he forget pounding_ that?_

Stop it Cato. You're just here to support Peeta and your baby. Nothing else is to come from this. _Nothing._

Nothing.

**A/N: Thank you to everyone's who has read and reviewed so far! Your support and feedback is very helpful and always puts a smile on my face! :D**


	4. Week One: Day Two (Part Two)

**Chapter Four**

**Week One: Day Two**

"Bored, bored, bored."

"I sort of get it," said Cato. Peeta was lying on the out of order counter beside the one Cato was currently working at, staring at the ceiling. He was making it entirely clear that he was not happy to be hanging around Cato's work. After the examination by Dr. Aurelius Peeta had made it clear that he wanted to go home. However, Cato still didn't want him alone in his house so he took him to the store instead.

"B.O.R.E.D."

"I know how to spell bored."

Peeta groaned and threaded his fingers together, resting his hands on his plump stomach. "How can you survive doing this every day? It's horrifyingly morbid! I'm already seeing stars," he complained. He propped his feet up on the edge of the counter and flapped his arms. "I'm bored, bored, bored! I can't handle this!"

"Either that or we won't have dinner tonight," said Cato. He slapped Peeta's knee. "Get up, you're drawing away customers!"

"I'm not drawing anyone away." Despite this, Peeta sat up. He hunched his shoulders and swung his legs, letting the heels of his feet bump against the bottom panel of the counter. "This till is empty, they can still go to you."

"But you're rolling around and squirming like there's ants in your pants," Cato said. "They're going to think there's something wrong with you and, out of not wishing to feel discomforted, they won't come near me because I'm beside you."

Peeta stared at Cato with a pointed gaze. "You worry too much. Are you only fun when you're drunk?" he asked. "When there's alcohol in your system we see happy, fun-loving Cato but when there's nothing in there you're just monotonous shop clerk?"

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Cato replied with a smile. He was completely aware that he was a different person when he was drunk than what he was when he was sober. Peeta had hit the nail right on the head. "Besides, are you trying to say that you're not different when you're drunk? For one thing, you were a lot more . . ."

Peeta quirked an eyebrow. "What?" he asked.

"Sultry," Cato said, settling on the correct word.

"Oh, trust me, I can be sultry when I wanna be. I'm just off duty right now. Fuck, it's warm in here." Peeta fanned himself and wiped his face with the back of his hand. "God, I feel like I'm a menstruating woman. You see? How can I be sultry while carrying a baby, sweating my brains out and feeling like I'm about to vomit? I may be good but I'm not that good."

Cato wondered how Peeta knew what it felt like to be a menstruating woman. Did cut up men experience menstruation or periods? Would Peeta go through menopause when he was middle aged? Cato kept a firm eye on Peeta throughout his shift. The young boy had stopped complaining and just sat on the counter with legs crossed and elbow propped on his knee. His cheek was pressed against the knuckles of his hand and he looked bored out of his mind.

Occasionally, a customer would pass and notice Peeta's pregnant state. Some would recoil and continue walking but most stopped to actually ask questions. They asked him when the baby was due and who the father was. Peeta was glad to finally have something to do other than being bored and would talk adamantly to each and every person who spoke to him. Cato didn't mind Peeta talking to others and telling them that he was the father. He wasn't ashamed of the fact that he had gotten Peeta pregnant. It was more of the circumstances in which he had gotten Peeta pregnant in that he was ashamed of.

And then Clove came along.

Cato had been pulling out some extra change from underneath the till when she must have showed up. He heard Peeta talking and he hadn't worried about who it was to until he heard Clove's voice boom out, "No way!"

He immediately got to his feet, change jar in hand, and found his friend standing in front of Peeta, mouth hanging open. "Cato, you dog!" she exclaimed. "I had no idea that you knocked a boy up! Why didn't you tell me? How long were you trying to hide this one?"

"Not long. I only found out yesterday," said Cato. "Besides, I did tell you about him."

"The slut from the bar?" Clove asked.

Peeta raised his eyebrows in Cato's direction. "Slut?" he asked slowly.

"Clove, I didn't say slut," said Cato, avoiding Peeta's eyes.

"From what you described, I sort of just interpreted it." Clove smiled weakly at Peeta. "Sorry but, come on, anyone who has one night stands is a slut. Think of it this way, it makes Cato a slut too. Well, I think of Cato more as a man-whore than a slut."

"Thanks for that, Clove," Cato said.

Peeta laughed. "I can see it," he agreed. "And just for the record, Cato hit on me more than I hit on him."

Clove barked out an abrasive laugh. "Oh yeah, I can totally picture it now." She fixed Cato with one of her famous burning stares. "Trust you to knock a boy up on your first one night stand!" She looked at Peeta and, as nosy as always, poked his stomach as if expecting it to explode. "So there's really a kid in there?"

"No, Clove, Peeta just really likes cake," Cato answered sarcastically.

"Chocolate's the best," Peeta added.

Clove narrowed her eyes and her gaze bounced from Cato to Peeta and back again. "It's scary how similar you are to each other. Well, I say similar. More like total opposites who fit each other like gloves."

Cato and Peeta burst out laughing simultaneously. "Us? Fit like a glove? You've got to be kidding!" Peeta cackled.

"Peeta and I are about as fitting as those two pieces of jigsaw the determined player tries to shove together even though they don't fit," said Cato.

Clove rolled her eyes. "Denial!" she sang.

As the hours wore on, Peeta and Clove got to know each other more and more. At first it was okay but when they began exchanging stories that made them laugh at Cato's expense, it became a little irritating. How Peeta had gathered so many anecdotes from one night of pure sex was beyond Cato's comprehension but he certainly had a lot to say.

"Dirty, dirty boy just waiting to get out?" Clove had to hold onto her side to dampen the pain caused by her laughing stitch. "Did he really say that?"

"Yup!" Peeta replied. When he saw Cato glaring at him, he winked cheekily, and in that moment Cato knew that he didn't mind being called dirty all that much. He was just acting the way he was to have something funny to say to Clove. Clever. Cato _knew_ that Peeta was a dirty boy and he knew from their one night stand that he had proved it well enough. Only bad thing was was that Clove didn't know this and was currently laughing her ass off.

"You really need to consult a pick up line rule book Cato," Clove chuckled.

"It worked on him, didn't it? Or else we wouldn't be here now," said Cato.

"You would, I wouldn't," corrected Peeta. "I wouldn't be caught dead in such a dismal place."

"A department store?" Clove frowned.

"We peasants cannot afford the luxuries located in a department store, my dear," Peeta explained. "I prided myself in pushing against the man by not ever entering a department store for I didn't have the money to buy anything within it. Still don't, really."

"Why don't you get a job?" asked Cato.

"Me? A job? I'm trained for nothing! My mother pulled me out of school to work at her bakery when I was ten and tried to pawn me off with the neighbour's son when I was sixteen so that my lack of education wouldn't be a problem since he was a law student. Now that I'm pregnant, she doesn't want anything to do with me," Peeta explained. "Now who would hire a homeless pregnant man with no skills or qualities? Not even a GCSE to his name?"

"A Mc Donalds manager?" guessed Clove.

"Trick question?" asked Cato.

Peeta scoffed. "Even you guys can see my lack of future. It's all ahead of me now. Give birth, put the baby up for adoption and become a hobo. I'm already half way there. I've got the shabby cardigan."

"Hey, that cardigan is fashionable," Clove protested.

"I've seen grandmothers with more fashion sense than this," Peeta said glumly. He picked at the loose strands of wool that stuck out from his cardigan sleeves and flicked them away. He suddenly smiled, as if he hadn't just went on a depressing rant, and jumped off the counter. "Where's the bathrooms?"

"Near the kid's section. You can't miss it," said Cato.

When Peeta vanished among the colourful clothes displays, Clove took up his place on the counter. "Poor kid," she muttered.

"What do you mean poor kid?" Cato frowned.

"He's obviously depressed! Can't you see how upset he clearly is?" Clove knawed on her bottom lip thoughtfully and shrugged. "Or maybe it's just the baby hormones. Imagine being pulled out of school so young though."

"Sounds like a dream to me," said Cato.

Clove rolled her eyes. "I don't mean in the eyes of a student desperate to leave school. I mean in the eyes of a child whose mother sounds like an overbearing bitch." That was the thing about Clove. If she liked someone, she would immediately latch to them and dislike anything that made them unhappy. Cato guessed it was because she hated the sight of unhappiness.

When Peeta returned, he was certainly more upbeat. Ever since Clove brought up the depression thing, however, Cato couldn't stop thinking about it. Was Peeta's happiness just like that advert for mental health? When the man puts on a smile around his friends and pull of the mask when they leave? It wasn't that long a shot, either. Peeta's life did seem to be crumbling around him. And part of that was because of Cato. Because of their one night stand.

He felt almost . . . guilty.

"I suppose I should get used to that," Peeta joked, squeezing beside Clove on the counter. "I'll be running in and out of the bathroom ten times a day from now on." Cato chuckled, despite himself. Peeta was like a breath of fresh air. When he wasn't being a pain in the ass anyway.

"Can you feel it? Like, the kid? Is it that far enough along?" asked Clove. "How far along are you anyway?"

"A month," Peeta answered. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and brushed his hair back from his face. Cato had to admit, he did look a little dishellved. He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed it before but as he listened to Peeta explain to Clove what Dr Aurelius had said about his body adjusting to the fetus and why that made him feel like he was already six months along, Cato's realization caused him to notice more.

Peeta's hair was a little greasy and scruffed all roads. His cheeks were ruddy and the clothes that Cato let him borrow hung of his lean frame like a baby in its daddy's clothes. It was amazing that, despite all that, Peeta still looked stunning. The state he was in was probably caused by his mother kicking him out and how he had been spending nights in the club.

" . . . I'm basically just a people carrier."

Clove snorted. "Yeah, you got that right." She poked Peeta's stomach again and frowned. "Are you sure you're not habouring twins in there? Your stomach is huge!"

Cato's head snapped up in horror. What was she on about? Twins? What a joke. It was a wonder that he'd even managed to get Peeta pregnant with one kid in the first place. They had been so drunk he was surprised that he'd managed to even have sex with Peeta properly to even conceive.

Even Peeta looked mortified. "I'm not . . . twins? Where the heck did you get that from?" His voice shook a little, like he couldn't get the words out fast enough. "Dr-Dr Aurelius says that it's just my body adjusting. My bod-body isn't used to carrying babies. That's why I-I'm so big."

Clove shrugged. "Babies," she said. "Unpredictable."

Even though she had just waved her previous comment off, Peeta had paled considerably. "I'm going to be sick," he suddenly said. Before Cato or Clove could process anything, he jumped off the counter and ran back to the bathroom.

Clove looked at Cato with concern. "Did I say something?" she asked.

"I don't know. For someone who's cut up, he certainly doesn't like talk about babies," said Cato. "You should have seen him in the doctor's office. He was really skiddish and nervous."

"Maybe he's an Iatrophobic?" suggested Clove. "That's a fear of going to the doctor, just so you know."

"Could be," said Cato. However, something told him it wasn't that easy. Peeta was a strong man, surely he wasn't afraid of a doctor's office. He stood up and put a **'BACK SOON'** sign on his till. "I'm going to go see if he's okay."

"You do that, _daddy._" Clove winked.

Cato rolled his eyes and weaved around the counter. He didn't know whether he felt genuine concern for Peeta or whether the fact that Peeta was carrying his baby had him in a bit of a tizz but his heart was pounding a little. He knew that for Peeta, vomiting would be normal, for a while anyway. When he pushed into the toilets, he immediately heard Peeta hocking up his guts.

"Peeta? You okay?"

"Do I sound okay?!" Peeta exclaimed.

"Erm, do you need me to do anything?" asked Cato. "Get you some water or . . . uh . . . something?" The sound of Peeta being sick was vile and miserable. Cato to the only closed cubicle and rapped on it with his knuckles. "Hey, let me in."

"Not . . . locked."

Cato pushed open the door and winced at the despondent sight of Peeta hunched over the toilet bowl. The cardigan was lying on the floor, a dejected piece of clothing. It was a tight squeeze but Cato somehow managed to get inside and shut the door behind him. He crouched beside Peeta and awkwardly put his hand on his back. "The baby is certainly giving you a hard time. And it's only day two."

"Thirty three," Peeta muttered. He pressed his forehead against the toilet seat and forced himself to calm down and control his breathing. "At least I don't have to clean this toilet after throwing up. There's nothing more wretched than having to unblock toilets immediately after being sick."

"When did you have to do that?"

"Past month. In the club."

There was that guilt again. Peeta had been cleaning up after himself for the past month when he clearly wasn't in the correct state for it. Cato knew that if Peeta found out that he was feeling bad for him, he would probably be sick again, but it was something he couldn't help. Peeta obviously hadn't been having it easy. Man, and he thought his life was hard when he had to work the triple shift.

"I just want to go to sleep," Peeta mumbled. He leaned his back against the cubicle wall and gathered the cardigan up into his arms.

Cato chewed his bottom lip. It barely took five seconds before he said, "Okay, give me five minutes. I'll talk to Mr Snow and see if I can take my break early and take you home."

Peeta frowned. "Home?"

"Sorry, I meant my place."

Peeta smiled weakly but nodded. "Okay."

Cato helped pull him to his feet and wrapped the cardigan more securely around Peeta's shoulders. It was strange. He never cared for anyone other than himself or Clove, anyone outside that circle wasn't worth his care. When Peeta first came to him saying he was pregnant, Cato hadn't expected himself to get so attached so quickly. As long as that baby was inside him, Cato couldn't disconnect himself from Peeta. Besides, Peeta was a nice guy and from what Cato could tell, he didn't deserve what he'd gotten so far. It was his duty, as the father of this child, to look after both the baby and the man carrying it.

**A/N: Thank you everyone for your reviews! I'm so glad you all seem to be enjoying the story so far! Sorry for the late-ish update. I've been busy with a few other bits and pieces :)**

**Please review with all your thoughts! Everyone single one is greatly appreciated! :D**


	5. Week One: Day Four

**Chapter Five**

**Week One: Day Four**

It's astonishing how quickly a person can change within the space of a few hours. Cato could remember waking up this morning and scaring Peeta and the attitude that met him because of it. He could also recall the scared boy in the doctor's office. And the talkative, complaining man in the shop. But none of those personas matched the Peeta he was with now. Who was shivering underneath a cardigan, face pale and body weak. The side affects from the pregnancy were beginning to take their toll and Cato began to worry that if this was what it was like only thirty three days in then what was it going to be like later on? When there's only a month left?

In Cato's apartment, he stared at the sofa and instantly decided that he wasn't making Peeta sleep there. It was cruel, especially since he had a bed upstairs. Besides, the sofa wasn't that uncomfortable, he could spend a few nights there until Peeta found alternate accommodation.

"Are you sure about this? I could just sleep on the sofa," Peeta insisted. He didn't protest this time around over being helped up the stairs, probably because of his obvious fatigue.

"No, it makes more sense to sleep here. I'm not going to be the asshole who doesn't let the pregnant one sleep in the bed," said Cato. It made sense, since the sofa wasn't all that uncomfortable but would probably feel like a board of nails to Peeta. He awkwardly pulled the covers back and gave his pillow a punch. "Um, there you go. Do you need anything before I go back to work?"

"No, I should be okay," Peeta replied. He seemed to have improved during the walk back to the house. There was certainly more colour in his cheeks, despite the fact that sweat still dripped from the ends of his hair. "I really appreciate this. I'll start looking for apartments tomorrow."

"Take your time," said Cato with a smile. And he really meant it. It was alarming how the knowledge that an individual was carrying his baby made him so willing to have them around. As time wore on, he was becoming less and less happy with the idea of Peeta leaving at all. Until the baby was born anyway. But Cato would never admit this, especially not to Peeta himself. It wasn't about Peeta anyway, it was about the baby. The baby was the only thing Cato cared about and, in relation to the baby, this meant that he had to force himself to care about Peeta as well.

It didn't take Cato long to realize that one of the side effects to being pregnant was being a complete bitch. A couple of days after Cato let Peeta sleep in his bed, Peeta's moods went into complete flux and were up and down like a rollercoaster. Cato decided it was best just to leave him to his own devices, lest he have his head completely torn off by the human equivalent of a pregnant barracuda. However, that night, something odd happened.

Cato had woken up on the couch, as he had for the past two days. His back screamed at him, as if demanding to know why it wasn't lying on the artificial softness of his Capitol imported mattress. The light was on in the kitchen, spilling out from the half open doorway and staining the floor. Confused and tired, Cato hauled himself to his feet and investigated. What he found inside wasn't a burglar, which had been his initial thought, but something much, much more confusing.

"What are you eating?"

Peeta didn't seem at all bothered by being caught. He was sitting at the table, cross legged, eating something that looked like a cracker with cream cheese and jam on top of it. Cato almost retched at the sight of it but Peeta seemed to be enjoying the snack pretty well, judging by the way he was shoveling all of them in. "Look, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. I'll pay for anything I use up with what's left of my club money," Peeta explained. "I just woke up with this blinding craving."

"For cream cheese and jam?" Cato asked slowly.

"I want something sweet and savoury at the same time and the crackers weren't cutting it," said Peeta. He licked his fingers and slid a small spoonful of jam into his mouth. Cato rolled his eyes and went to the sink to get a glass of water.

"Just clean up after yourself, okay?"

"No problem," replied Peeta. "I'm probably going to be here for a while anyway."

"How hungry are you exactly? We ate earlier. A pretty big meal, as I recall," said Cato. He absent mindedly slid into the seat across from Peeta, putting the glass full of water down on what seemed to be the only spare piece of table space.

Peeta scowled and pointed the spoon at him accusingly. "Hey, don't judge," he said. "Don't act like you haven't had cravings."

Cato pretended to look back on it. "Nope. Not at all."

"Lies," Peeta accused. He stuck the spoon back into his mouth and haphazardly spread some cream cheese onto a cracker. Through the piece of metal stuck between his lips, he kept talking, "I get them all the time, especially when I'm menstruating so this really isn't anything new for me. Except I actually have food now. My mother used to lock the cupboards because she didn't want me to get fat."

Peeta's mother sounded like a bundle of laughs. Cato nipped a cracker out of the packet and took a thoughtful bite out of it. "I don't understand the whole menstruation thing. Girls and cut up men act like it's so horribly painful when it's probably not even that bad . . . Why are you looking at me like that?"

Peeta was staring at him through narrowed eyes. "Don't even go there or I will kick your ass, pregnant or not."

"It can't be that bad!" exclaimed Cato.

"Don't make me come over there," Peeta threatened. "I'll have to get up and you really don't want to see me haul my pregnant ass out of this seat while my ankles are asleep."

"Now you're just being stubborn."

"Stubborn? I'll kick you in the balls, see how much you like that," said Peeta.

"It's hardly the same as that." Peeta threw his spoon at Cato. The aim was perfect and the piece of metal whacked his forehead. "Ow! What was that for?!"

"It's not that bad," Peeta said, pulling a face and pretending to mimic Cato.

Cato rolled his eyes. "I get the point," he said.

Peeta grinned triumphantly and leaned back in his seat. The chair creaked under his weight and he winced. "God, I'm such a whale," he muttered. "I can't believe I'm not even two months along and I'm already making furniture groan." He let out a long, frustrated moan and threw his head back. "I want this over already! Surely since this is still an uncertain process I'll give birth earlier than nine months. Maybe for guys it's only three months or something! Then everything would be just fine."

Cato quirked an interested eyebrow. "Surely you were given a pamphlet or something when you went in to get the surgery?" he asked. "Explaining everything or something, you know, about the maternity time and stuff. They didn't just give you a womb and ovaries and send you out into the world like a wide eyed deer."

"I vaguely remember a video on periods," said Peeta, scratching the back of his head with a frown. "You know, what to do when the blood starts coming out of your ass and how to apply a pad or whatever. But on pregnancy? Nothing. A bit ironic, don't you think? Since it was a surgery to increase the dwindling population and all."

Peeta grinned, the gesture a complete oxymoron to the way he had just been complaining. Cato tried not to stare for too long at once. There was something about Peeta that made him want to stare at him forever. He was like a siren, something that demanded constant attention. In a good way, of course. "I suppose we could ask Dr. Aurelius the next time you're due for a checkup," said Cato.

"I suppose." At the mention of the checkup, Peeta's mood dropped like a hot potato. The boy's body sagged a little and his expression melted. His bottom lip stuck out petulantly and he crossed his arms on top of his mini bump.

"Are you afraid of the doctor's, or something?" asked Cato. "Clove mentioned a phobia or something. It's a real thing or whatever."

Peeta shook his head with a frown. "I'm not scared of doctors," he said. "I've just had bad experiences with them in the past."

"Like broken arm bad or super serious bad?" Cato asked.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

Right. Okay.

A silence fell between them and Cato struggled for something to say. He hadn't meant to seem like he was trying to pry into Peeta's personal life but the curiosity had gotten the better of him and now he wished he had never asked anything. A thought popped into his head and he voiced it before he really thought about it. "Have you thought of any names?"

Peeta looked surprised at the question. "No. Why? Have you?"

"I used to think about it when I was younger and thought that best friends were supposed to have kids together. Clove and I came up with quite a few," said Cato.

"Like?"

"Uh, Xavier, for a boy, for example."

Peeta snorted. "You mean like Charles Xavier?" He creased up laughing. "Fuck, Cato, the kid isn't Patrick Stewart! Nor is he psychic nor will he be bald." Peeta touched his head with a frown. "At least I hope not."

Cato rolled his eyes. "Then what sort of magical names have you in your memory banks?"

Peeta grinned brightly. "No clue."

"Well, Xavier's better than calling the baby John Doe," said Cato.

"Isn't that for dead people? They put that name on dead people's toes, right?" Peeta chuckled. "John Doe, on the toe."

Cato chuckled as well, even though the joke was kind of cheesy. "I'm sure our baby will be thrilled with how prepared and totally mature their parents are," he said sarcastically.

Peeta kicked his feet up on the table, knocking over a few packets of various food products. "Is that a hint of sarcasm I hear, Mr Hadley?" he asked, cupping his hand around his ear. "Because I think it is." Again, Cato found himself chuckling. He didn't do that too often, it was odd. He didn't know whether he liked it or not. "You've never said it like that before."

"Said what like what before?" asked Cato.

Peeta's face had grown serious. He picked nervously at his fingernails and wouldn't meet Cato's eyes, all of a sudden. "You've never said 'our' baby. You've just always said 'my' baby. As in you. Cato. Not me. It's the first time you've openly said out loud that the baby's mine as well."

Cato hadn't thought of it that way before. He had always been referring to the baby as his own but he had always been aware that it was Peeta's child as well. He hadn't realized that he hadn't said it out loud, to Peeta, before. "Of course it's our baby," he said with a frown. "Who else's would it be?"

Peeta shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought maybe you didn't want to acknowledge that you actually had sex with . . . well . . ." He gestured at himself, "_this_. And that I was the one who was pregnant."

"Peeta, that's ridiculous," Cato said. "Okay, so it was a bit hard to swallow when I found out you were pregnant and maybe it would have been better if we hadn't had sex but it doesn't mean I don't want to acknowledge that we actually did it. You're talking of yourself as if you're a greasy hobo or something. I was attracted to you that night-the beer goggles didn't help-and I had sex with you. There. I've acknowledged it."

"Right," said Peeta. "And I had sex with you too. I suppose that helps a little. Although, I still feel a little cheap over the whole thing."

"You feel cheap? You're the one who left!" exclaimed Cato. "How could you have known that I mightn't have wanted to start something with you? You just vanished!"

Peeta cocked his head, eyebrows knitting together. "Did you want something with me?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know," Cato said, drawing back a little. Alarm bells were ringing in his head, screaming: _"Go back! Go back! Quick!" _ "It's a bit late now."

Blue eyes wide in wonder, Peeta smiled. It was a devious smile. Lop-sided and easily sexy. "It's never too late," he said. Before the alarm bells stopped ringing in Cato's head, Peeta swung his legs back down and hauled himself out of his seat. Cato winced as he heard the boy's ankles crack when his weight was fully displaced. He watched the younger boy as he made his way to the door, already walking with a slight waddle because of his weight.

This man really was something special. Too bad nothing could happen between them. It would be too complicated. Like one of those algebra sums with all the letters and only one way to solve it.

Cato had never been good at math but he knew that him plus Peeta would never be a valid solution.

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviews! Your continued support is amazing and I couldn't be happier with all your helpful feedback! :) **


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